Kansan Soldier

I’ve been waiting until I have something to write about before getting back to this blog and even though a marathon has nothing to do with Army or deployment life, it might be of interest to some people… or at least some of you runners. Since I have nowhere else to post it, I guess I’ll use this blog.

I’ve wanted to run a marathon for several years and with all of the running I did this past year in Afghanistan, this seemed to be a good time to do it. So, yesterday I ran the Tyler Rose Marathon in Tyler, TX. Here are some preparation and race notes:

Training

To prepare for the marathon, I basically kept my normal running regimen (20-24 miles a week) but added a long run on the weekends. My first long run was running around Bagram back in July, which was about an 8 mile run. After that, I added 2 miles to each long run every other week – 10, 12, 14, 16, and 18 miles. I wanted to run a 20 mile run before the marathon but didn’t have the motivation so I ran 5 miles one morning and 16 miles that same evening which I felt was close enough.

My maximum weekly mileage was 34 miles, which is conservative by most marathon training plan standards. Sticking to a consistent plan was difficult after I got to my unit here at Fort Hood since I had mandatory physical training in the morning which may or may not include running on any given morning. I originally planned to run the Wichita Prairie Fire Marathon, but the long drive was a bridge too far so I looked for a closer one this same weekend. Tyler, TX is about 3 ½ hours from here and considering how much pain I was in after the marathon, I’m really happy I didn’t have to drive the 8 hours back from Wichita.

We drove up to Tyler, TX on Saturday afternoon and spent the night there in the Hyatt Place which was a great hotel (and totally booked with runners). The race started at 7:30 a.m. on Sunday. As we drove the 3 ½ hours on Saturday, it seemed like a long trip, but it occurred to me that I would be running for even longer than 3 ½ hours the next day. That thought made me nervous!

Pre-Race

2010 was the inaugural Tyler Rose Marathon, so 2011 was only its second year. It’s called the Rose Marathon because it starts and ends in a beautiful huge rose garden. I guess Tyler, TX is famous for its roses and it supplies a large amount of roses to the US. One of the unique gifts to finishers is a potted rose plant. Compared to many of the big city marathons, the Tyler Rose is a small event. Apparently, 212 people registered/showed up/raced/finished the full marathon and I think there were around 1,000 finishers for the half marathon.  There was also a 5k run and the day before (Saturday), there were several events for children.

We signed up Kailee & Sophia for a 50 yard dash “fun run”, not realizing that it was on Saturday instead of Sunday. When we arrived in Tyler on Saturday afternoon, a race worker gave us the bad news that we had missed it – it had already happened that morning. When the nice lady saw the disappointment on the girls’ faces (Kailee started crying), she saved the day by staging a 50 yard dash just for Kailee and Sophia. She even gave them finisher medals and kid’s t-shirts at the end – they loved it! I really can’t thank this lady enough… she could have just shrugged her shoulders and said, “Sorry kiddos, come back next year” but instead she really made it an event that the girls will remember for a long time. Thank you Mystery Lady!

Winners

Race Strategy

I really had no idea of how I should run the race since I had not done any shorter distance races (except for the 2 mile run on the Army PT test) and had not run continuously past 18 miles in training. I can maintain a 7:30 min/mile pace fairly comfortably for 5 miles or so and I ran 8:15 min/miles for 12 miles on one of my training runs which felt comfortable. I debated starting out really slow and gradually speeding up after the halfway point. But then I read online that the best strategy is to just run the same pace the whole time, so I decided on that method. The only question was… which pace? A 3:40 (3 hour: 40 min) marathon equals to about 8:22 min/mile which seemed reasonable so I decided to attempt that.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about expectation management, though, is that I should have a contingency plan. So, I made three goals. My first goal was simply to finish the marathon. My second goal was to finish under 4 hours. And my final go-for-the-stars goal was to finish around 3:40hrs.

Race

First, I should mention a few things about the course. The Tyler Rose Marathon is set in the rolling hills of Eastern Texas. I’ve been running on hills here around my house around Fort Hood but hills around Tyler, Tx are bigger and non-stop. There were very few places along the route that were flat. After 26 miles, the hills really took a toll on me.  Secondly, the starting temperature was in the low 70’s and had climbed into the low 80’s by the time I finished.

The internet is replete with warnings against starting a marathon too fast, so I deliberately tried to keep the pace slow for the first few miles. I felt like I was crawling along but was surprised when my watch kept recording miles at 8:00 min/miles, 8:10 min/miles, etc. I guess it was the race-day excitement and adrenaline. I felt great, but I knew that I had to slow down, so I fell in behind the 3:40hr pace group (this is a group that the race hires to run a specific pace to help people run their goal time). They were clicking off 8:15 min/miles like clockwork, so I ran with them until the 11 or 12 mile mark.

The first 10 miles or so generally followed winding hilly country roads which were scenic and made for a pleasant run. There were plenty of hills but I felt fine running up and down them. The sun and the wind were at our back. I checked my breathing every now and then and felt like I was breathing slow and easy with no problems. At mile 6, I heard someone say, “6 miles down, only 20 to go!” Man, that was discouraging. Still, I felt ok until around mile 10 where disaster struck and the hills finally started getting to me. Miles 10 through 15 turned onto a highway that was open to the elements. This stretch faced east, right into the ever hotter morning sun. There was no shade and the hills along this stretch were quite large and continuous. To add insult to injury, there was a moderate wind blowing directly against us. These miles became very painful and seemed to last forever.

At mile 12, after the third huge hill right in a row, my pace slacked off a bit. I decided to be conservative and when I reached the top of the hill I walked through the water station and stopped by the port-a-john. When I started back running, I felt a little better and I hit the halfway point (13.1 miles) almost exactly on my goal time – 1:52. It was starting to hurt by that point, though, and I knew that there was no way I could run the same pace for another 13.1 miles.

For the final 13 miles, the pain just grew steadily worse. My mile splits became more and more erratic and depended heavily on the hills. By mile 17, I could barely drag myself up even the smallest hills and every step shot fire through my legs. It was around this point that the 4:00hr pace group passed me and my goal changed from running a sub-4 hour marathon to just finishing. I adopted the strategy of walking for 30-60 seconds and running for 3 or 4 minutes. This whole experience, by the way, exactly mirrors what every marathon book and website predicts and warns against… oh well, I guess every novice has to find out the hard way.

At mile 18, my entire body felt like someone had just beat me with a baseball bat. It was discouraging knowing that I had never run further than 18 miles before and I still had 8 miles to go. I ran the 18^th mile in 9:30 and it was the last mile in which I ran under 10 minutes. Instead of clicking merrily past, each mile now felt like it would never end. Nearly everybody I saw was using the run/walk strategy at this point.

I should mention that with only 200+ runners, much or most of the last 13 miles was spent running by myself. There were long stretches of time when I couldn’t even see any other runners ahead or behind me. Since it was a small event, there were occasional small groups of 4 or 5 people cheering us on every now and then, but it did not have the flavor or excitement of some larger marathons. Around mile 20, I passed a guy who was bent over double, grimacing, and weaving back and forth across the road. He said he had really bad leg cramps but he said he didn’t need medical help when I asked him. I told the people at the next water stop that he was coming and probably needed help. I later saw him cross the finish line at a near sprint and collapse upon crossing the line… whereupon he was taken away by the medics.

The last 10 miles were set in historic neighborhoods with huge trees and cobblestone roads. It was really a beautiful route and it helped somewhat take my mind off the pain occasionally. This part was also hilly. Did I mention the hills? Around mile 23, the pain in my legs was bringing tears to my eyes. I passed one guy who was laying flat on his back in somebody’s yard & I was tempted to join him except I didn’t think I could get back up. It seemed like I ran miles 24 and 25 in some kind of drug-induced haze, in 13:15 and 12:08, respectively. I’m not sure how accurate this is, but this is the elevation data that my running watch recorded to give you an idea of the hills (the numbers on the bottom are the miles):

Garmin Elevation Data

When I saw the 25^th mile marker and knew I only had 1 mile left, I didn’t care anymore. I painfully walked past the marker. I was on the 100 strides of walking / 100 strides of running plan at this point. I ran/walked the 26^th mile in 11:33. The last mile was particularly insidious because it had 2 hills, one of which was at the very end.

When I reached the last quarter mile, I could hear the announcer at the end and there were people cheering us on in the last 100 meters or so. The last 50 meters was springy astro-turf which felt great after 26 miles of pavement. I ran through the finish line with a time of 4:21:59 and the race people handed me a finisher’s medal and a potted rose. I finished 57^th overall (out of 212) and 7^th in my age group (out of I-don’t-know how many).

Finish Line

Mary, Kailee, and Sophia met me at the finish line and it felt wonderful to see them and to finally stop running. Mary and the girls were great supporters and the thought of seeing them at the finish line carried me through a lot of the harder miles. Thanks Mary, Kailee and Sophia!

It may not have been a pretty performance, but I did feel a nice sense of accomplishment and I’m happy to be able to say that I’ve run a marathon. For the next few hours after finishing, it was hard to walk around without hobbling and groaning but I was walking more or less normally by that evening. After our 3 ½ hour trip home, we were all exhausted (Mary having spent the whole day outdoors with the girls while being sick with pregnancy). We were really happy that we hadn’t decided to drive 8 hours to Wichita and back for the marathon there, even though it would have been fun to see everyone.

Other than being sore, I felt surprisingly well the next few days and I don’t have any injuries. I ran another 12 miles throughout this past week and felt kind of banged up, but not too bad. I didn’t have any problems with blisters or chafing or torn muscles or anything. I guess my training did at least help me get through it injury-free.

Lesson’s Learned

Here are a few lessons I learned that I will use if I ever run another marathon:

1. Start off slower no matter how great I feel at the beginning
2. Drink more water, especially if it’s a hot day
3. I think I will stick with Gatorade next time instead of energy gels
4. Put on sunscreen, even if it’s supposed to be overcast
5. Train with several longer runs (at least several 20+ milers)
6. Train on similar terrain as the race – although I ran on hills here in the Fort Hood area, I was not prepared for the amount and size of the hills in Tyler. In fact, my longest training run (18 miles) was run in Wichita, KS which is flat as a pancake.

Overall, running this marathon was a great experience. It was a beautiful course (except for miles 10 – 15) and the people who ran it were extremely friendly. The small-town atmosphere made it a lot of fun. Running a marathon was challenging, painful, and rewarding. The Tyler Rose Marathon might not be considered a great “first timers” marathon course because of the hills and small size but I felt that just added to the challenge, pain, and reward. It also makes it more likely that I’ll beat my time if I ever run an easier course. Really, though, I imagine that there really isn’t such a thing as an easy marathon which is what makes it so much fun.

Thanks again, Mary, for putting up with all this running & for supporting me through this marathon just as much as you always have through other bigger things (like deployments). If this report gives someone the motivation to go out and accomplish one of their goals, great! But after reading what I just wrote, it kind of makes me want to go take a nap. Which is exactly what I think I’ll do.

Well, for those who haven’t heard (or guessed), I AM finally back home. I arrived home the evening of July 20th. Mary and the girls were at the airport to meet me as well as mom and dad. When the girls spotted me coming out of the security section of the airport, they raced each other to run up and give me huge hugs. It was a great feeling to have them in my arms again in real life. Mary looked great and I’m happy that mom and dad were there as well. I can’t even count how many times over the years that I’ve had sad goodbyes and joyful reunions with mom and dad in the Wichita airport. That place is certainly full of memories for me & this reunion adds another one.

After a few days back home, Afghanistan already started feeling like a dream. The two worlds are so far apart that its hard to reconcile the fact that they both exist in the same universe. I’d love to say that I made it back home and lived happily ever after but I think there will still be a long period of adjustment. Mary and I have both changed and experienced different things & the girls have certainly grown and matured over the past year – it will take time to adjust again to living as a family.

The friends and soldiers that I lived with, worked with, ate with, risked my life with, etc for the past year – my “family” in Afghanistan – have been left behind. Except for one soldier, I didn’t even get to say goodbye to any of them. I last saw them at breakfast on the 20th and when I walked away to take care of all of the Army out-processing stuff, I didn’t know that I would be going home that day or that I’d never see them again.

After a few whirlwind days in Kansas, where I was able to see a lot of friends and family, the Army movers and packers showed up on July 25th and our house was empty by the 27th. We stayed with mom and dad for a few days and we drove to Texas on the 29th. The last week was spent getting all of our stuff moved into our new house, unpacking (Mary did most of the work there), and in-processing into Fort Hood and active duty once more. We got Internet a few days ago and today is the first day that our house is actually looking like a nice ordered living space versus a chaotic mid-move jumble of boxes and packing stuff.

The contrast between my spartan bedroom at a far-flung base in Afghanistan and our nice big house in the rolling hills of southeast Texas could not be more pronounced. I’m sure there are some life lessons or morals to be deduced from such a contrast and maybe I’ll post them if I ever condense them into a blog-length essay form.

I guess I’ll close by saying that I’ve had a lot of life experiences and adventures over the past year which I will always value and which will no doubt influence who I am for years to come. I appreciate all of you who have joined me through this blog and who have encouraged and helped me and my family through this past year. My story is only one small one that has been (and is currently being) repeated in various forms in the lives of hundreds of thousands of soldiers and families of soldiers throughout our country for the past 10+ years. And it is a small continuation of the story of our country’s military history or, indeed, of soldiers’ stories throughout all of history.

I’m especially grateful to Mary for being such a wonderful supporting wife, friend, and mother to our children. Over the past year, I’ve seen many marriages of fellow soldiers disintegrate under the stress of our deployment. I definitely could not have done this without Mary’s support.

This deployment marks my fourth deployment and, unfortunately, in today’s world this one may not be my last. But until that time (or until I think of something else interesting to write about), I think I’ll leave this blog for a while. Thanks for reading!

Last photo

After a few weeks training up our replacements, we left FOB Morales-Frasier and spent the last week at Bagram. The violence in Kapisa has been rather high during this fighting season & I’m glad that I’m out of there. Here’s an article about an attack this week in a Kapisa village where we have often been. I probably know many of the soldiers who died.

As I was leaving Morales-Frasier (actually, it was renamed FOB Nijrab on the day that we left), I took a picture of my room and thought I’d post it as I don’t think I ever posted a photo of my room on this blog. Here’s where I stayed for most of the last few months:

When I first came to Afghanistan last October, I was a part of the advance party which was composed of a few of us who got here 2 weeks before the rest of the PRT to prepare the way for the main body arrival. At the end of this deployment, I was also in the last group to leave – first in, last out! Most of the PRT is already back home – some of them have been home for weeks. That’s ok, I guess it means that I did a good job and am “indispensable”. 

Here’s a picture of the last few of us right before we flew out of our FOB by helicopter for the final time. Actually, you can kind of see the helicopters behind us. From left to right is LTC Sierco (PRT Commander), me, LTC Hunt (my boss), Jim Morris (Dept of State), and MAJ Killa (S3/XO):

Leaving the Base

After spending a week in Bagram, we flew out of Afghanistan yesterday and are now in Kyrgyzstan awaiting our final flight back to the United States. In Bagram, we stayed in a big circus-looking tent with no air conditioning. The heat and boredom and constantly blowing sand made it feel slightly miserable but that’s ok – we were finished and going home. Plus, I’m used to “slightly miserable”.

Compared to Afghanistan, Kyrgyzstan is a veritable Garden of Eden. It is much cooler, forested with lush green trees and grass, breathtaking views of snow-capped mountains, a deep blue sky (versus the brownish dust colored sky of Bagram), and very peaceful and calm. This morning, I started my peaceful day with a nice jog on a trail through fluttering-leaved Aspens…

BUT in spite of all the famed and fabulous worldly delights of Kyrgyzstan, I’m still anxious to get home and I should be there within a week or so. I think Mary and the girls are excited too. In the end, “there’s no place like home…”

Instead of counting down months or weeks, I have recently started counting down the days to the end of this deployment. By this time next month, God willing, I will not only have arrived back home but I will have moved again to Texas. Our replacements have been here for a week or more and we have spent the time filling their heads with our 9 months worth of experience and knowledge. As they become more comfortable and knowledgeable about what’s going on, our current PRT has started stepping back and allowing them to take the reins. Which, incidentally, has left me with more and more free time…

And since I’ve had more free time, I’ve reflected somewhat on the experiences I’ve had. A year is a long time to devote to a goal, but when the goal is something as large as “stabilizing Afghanistan” it is still difficult at the end to measure the progress. Is the Province of Kapisa better off today than it was last year when we arrived? Perhaps in some ways. Was it worth a year of my life? U.S. politicians have decided that the answer is “yes”. Our country and our military, right or wrong, are involved in an effort here in Afghanistan which demands the years of our nation’s men and women. I can’t say whether it was “worth it” personally for me, but I am content to say that I played a small part in it.

There are many things, though, on a personal level that I’ve done during this time that are measurable – I have jogged over 1,000 miles in the past year, I have lost 15 pounds, I have read over 50 books, I have become more proficient in Farsi and French, I’ve seen new places and countries, and I have built friendships through shared hardship and life-threatening dangers. My spiritual life feels simplified somehow as many of the distractions and chaff of modern life fell away. I’ve prayed for my children & wife far more.

Overall, this year has been “the best of times” and “the worst of times” that cannot be easily categorized. I suppose this deployment will mean something different entirely to me in the years to come. Am I happy I did it? I can’t really answer that. I can only say that I did do it and I’m looking forward to going home.

This is a cautionary tale of woe and suffering while dealing with Afghans on a hot day.

Our last mission was on another blistering hot day. We headed out in the middle of the noonday sun, apparently in hopes of catching the insurgents napping. When I put on my heavy body armor and helmet and walked to the vehicles, the feeling of heat and discomfort reached a ridiculously high level. The heat and blinding sun physically oppressed me and pushed down like an additional weight. I squinted my eyes behind my sweat-streaked sunglasses and put one foot in front of the other, each step sending up a poof of dust. It seemed unsustainable, like maybe I was walking my last few steps before I fell over, cooked from heat. When I arrived at the vehicles, a mere 200 yards from my room, I was soaked in sweat.

Fortunately for someone, the vehicle allegedly had air conditioning. Unfortunately for me, there were no vents in the back half of the vehicle where I sat. The sun roasted down on the 17 ton box of steel, while I sat with 50 lbs of body armor strapped close to my torso wearing a long sleep shirt underneath and gloves on my hands. Once we started moving, the soldier sitting across from me, legs interlocked with mine in the tight cramped space, asked if maybe it would be better if we opened the hatches over our heads. Agreeing, we both opened our hatches. The sun once again beat down on us. The air coming in was like a hot blow dryer. I drank down my third bottle of water and continued to sweat.

This particular mission was to check on a project and pay a contractor the salaries for his workers. Arriving at out destination, I dismounted the vehicle – 6 feet from door to the ground. Blinking the sweat out of my eyes, I wait for the security element and when they said go, I started walking around the site with my interpreter. I’m not sure if the insurgents were napping that day or not, but the workers on the construction site certainly were.

As we walked towards a newly constructed latrine, I ask my interpreter if he knew the terms “septic tank” or “leach field” in preparation for my anticipated discussion with the foreman. No, he didn’t know those words. Stepping over a foul smelling stream of raw sewage fermenting and stewing in the heat, I realize that maybe they don’t use those words or concepts in Afghanistan.

When I entered into the latrine / laundry room, everything looked finished. When I asked whether the electricity and plumbing were finished and working, they assured me yes, yes. I flipped on the light switch. Nothing. “If the electricity is working, why is it that when I flip this little switch, we are not suddenly illuminated by those light bulbs?” I ask. “We have no gasoline for the generator,” they tell me. I find out that the four large generators that have been in the compound for over a year have never been used. No gasoline. It’s a common story – I’ve seen it before at the provincial prison, several clinics, checkpoints…. nice new generators, no gasoline.

Next, I test the water faucet. Nothing. “If the water is working, why is it that when I turn this little knob, we do not see any agua?!” I ask. “The water tank has an electric pump and we have no gasoline for the generator…” Everything is connected, though. What a nice place. Too bad they can’t use it.

I remember an article I read recently that said that 97% of Afghanistan’s GDP came from foreign military and donors. I guess we should get some country to pony up the money for gasoline. Of course, when we are paying $400 per gallon of gasoline as reported by the pentagon in 2009, maybe its just as well we don’t provide fuel for these projects. 

 Back to my mission… after looking over the buildings on this particular project, I talked to a contractor to pay him. I ask him, “How many workers do you have on your crew?” He replies, “13″. Ok, I hand him the money. He mumbles, mumbles, mumbles…. The interpreter tells me, “he says he has 17 people.” I see. Ok, 17 people. mumble, mumble, mumble. Actually, it’s 25… no wait, 28… 35… *sigh*.

Much stomping, chin-stroking, sweating, cursing, wheedling, mumbling, begging, sweating, and confusion ensues. I can’t understand what my interpreter is saying. I’m roasting alive under the sun. The number of workers fluctuates up and down like the waves of heat shimmering before my eyes. The flies buzz around my ears after playing around in the open sewage. Vultures circle overhead. I want to punch everyone in the nose before I die of heat stroke.

Somehow consensus is reached. I shuffle back to the vehicles waving my arms in front of me to ward off the invisible enemy who is blowing a fiery furnace fan in my face… I sit down in our open oven truck. Bump, bump, rattle, shake. I make it back to the base. I peel off my sweat drenched gear and clothes & collapse in bed, nauseous. I mentally check “miserable day” off of my list of things to do before I drift into unconsciousness (sleep). The end.

I know I haven’t written in a while. It’s a lot of work to come up with some interesting topic, but all is well. This is my last month here, so I’m almost to the point of counting down the days until we leave. Mary has been doing a great job back home getting ready for our move when I get back. We’ve decided to home school the girls this year and see how it goes. With all of the moving in military life, homeschooling seems to be a good option. It’s fun talking to the girls on the phone but I’m really looking forward to being back together again.

Instead of writing something long, I thought I’d post a few photos of myself from the last few months or so. I got these first few photos from the PRT’s facebook page. I didn’t even know I was in there but I guess our photographer has occasionally taken pictures of me without me knowing about it. Some of these were obviously from earlier in the year since I’m wearing cold weather stuff. 

This is me during a meeting looking very serious. I have my pistol in case it goes bad or I get too bored (just kidding):

Here I am with a government official walking & taking notes at the same time (multi-talented!):

Here I am greeting a local chief of police. I didn’t tell him that my great-great grandfather was the sheriff of Butler County:

Here’s me with a few guy I work with:

The snow has almost melted now but I think this was in April & I thought it was kind of scenic:

This picture is actually from today. My boss is the one smiling really big on the left side of the picture and my NCO is the one with his hand in his pocket on the right (my left). We’re standing in front of one of our monster trucks. I think my boss wanted to take this picture to send it back to his kid’s school:

Well, I hope all is well back in the good ‘ole U.S. I’m looking forward to stepping back on to U.S. soil again in another month or so.

In the past few weeks, I don’t think I’ve stayed in one location more than 2 or 3 days. Three of our team members have been removed from their jobs for one reason or another, which makes me the go-to guy when anything civil affairs related needs to be done. In the past 2 weeks alone, I’ve been to Bagram twice, FOB Kutschbach twice, FOB Torah once, FOB Morales Frasier two or three times, and even Kabul once. I’ve had meetings with multiple governors, village leaders, etc. I also saw General Petraeus once, which was pretty cool.

Traveling around has made the time go by quickly, but it is rather exhausting mentally and physically. I’ve also felt a lot of pressure to make sure our job gets done… As more people from our team get fired, re-assigned, removed, etc., more and more pressure and responsibility gets put on my shoulders. Still, I suppose that being too busy is preferable to being bored.

The news of Bin Laden’s death has not seemed to make a big impression on the local people here. We got mortared in Bagram a few nights ago, but I don’t think it had anything to do with Bin Laden’s death. I don’t think the average villager here understands that if the Taliban had just handed over Bin Laden after 9/11, we probably wouldn’t be here. Now that he’s dead, I feel like telling them that they are living on borrowed time as far as U.S. protection goes. As far as I’m concerned, we could declare victory and go home at any time, so the people here should figure out what they want their future to be and act quickly while there is still time. 

Unfortunately, it doesn’t appear that many Afghans really care about the future of their country… they are mostly focused on their own little compound or village. I talked to an 88 year old leader of a district a few weeks ago and asked him what he thought the solution was to all the corruption going on. He said, “you know, I am 88 years old and have lived in this village all my life. I was the head of the Shura for years and am well-respected by all. However, if you give me money for a project I can tell you that I will steal the money. Why? Because I am a thief. Why am I a thief? Because my president is a thief. My governor and all the leaders in this province are thieves. It is in our genetic makeup and it is why this country will always have problems.” I appreciated his candor but didn’t really know what to say, so I thanked him for at least being an honest thief.

I’m sure there are some altruistic people here, but out of the dozens of government officials I’ve worked with, I could probably count on 2 fingers the number of officials who put their people’s welfare above their own. I keep reading in the news about the need to professionalize the Afghan National Army (ANA) or the Afghan National Police (ANP). And yet, they are fighting untrained Taliban running around the mountains in flip-flops, a blanket, and a rifle. Why do they need so much training? So much equipment? So much support? Why are the desertion rates for the ANA and ANP somewhere between 10% – 25%?

I can’t help but think that the reason why is that a lot of people here are simply relying on the U.S. to provide security and economic development. They are concentrating more on how they can get rich quick off of the naive foreigners than they are on taking advantage of the opportunity to build their country. Ideologically, most of the people in the countryside (outside of Kabul) have a lot more in common with the Taliban than they do with the average infidel from the U.S. When we ask local village leaders what they think the solution is to their problems, they almost invariably answer that the only solution to this world’s problems is Islam. Therefore, we need more Islam.

You can be the judge of whether that would be an apt solution, but whether they are right or not – who is offering more Islam? Taliban or the U.S.?

Maybe I’m becoming cynical from all the greed, corruption, and indifference that I see so much of. Maybe my province is the exception and everywhere else things are getting better and better. It’s not that this province is extremely bad as far as security goes. The only people being attacked and killed are the Coalition. The people themselves are fairly safe. It’s just bad in the sense of governance, the attitude of entitlement, and the lack of a desire to better one’s condition.

Oh well, it’s time to start my work day. I’m not sure what the point of this post was other than rambling. Sometimes the situation looks worse, sometimes it looks better…

Good News

I couldn’t believe it. It has been so long since we’ve had something positive to celebrate in the wars since 9/11 that I’ve gotten used to the feeling of struggling against the tide. Hearing about Osama’s death brought a wave of happiness and relief that I didn’t even know I had inside me. I sat down on the bench and I was so happy that I was blinking back tears.

The subsequent images of people celebrating in Washington D.C. brought me back to the images of people in the Middle East celebrating after the fall of the twin towers. For me, 9/11 has always been too painful to even talk about. I’ve refused to read the books, watch the documentaries, or re-watch the television footage ever since the day I first watched it on TV as a young 2nd Lieutenant. Since I graduated from West Point in 2000, September 2001 has shaped my military career and life. I was deployed to Iraq in 2004-5, where Al Qaeda was chopping people’s heads off - in Mali in 2006-7, we struggled against AQIM, “Al Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb” – and for the past 7 months, I’ve been in the country where this all started. After so long, we finally have something to celebrate.

Bin Laden’s death is a victory not only for the Special Ops guys who conducted the raid – it’s a vindication for the blood, sweat, and tears of every American soldier who has served in Iraq and Afghanistan, and it’s a small measure of repayment for their families who have had time with their loved ones stolen from them. It answers critics who ask “what are we doing over there?”, and I hope it gives a sense of justice and closure for the families of those who died on 9/11 and in other AQ attacks. It’s a victory for America and our allied countries all over the world.

Throughout the day, everyone here, American & French, have been congratulating each other and talking about 9/11 for the first time with a sense that justice has been served. We may not be finished with our war here in Afghanistan, but we’re happy as heck that the man who started it got what he deserved. Watching the crowds celebrate on TV, it was hard for us not to start cheering and shooting our own weapons into the air. Somehow, we controlled ourselves and after watching the jubilant crowds on TV for a few minutes, we geared up for our daily mission and walked out to our vehicles. There’s still a job to do. But today, we did it while grinning from ear to ear.

It has been 4 weeks since I left home to return here. I feel like I reach a small victory at the end of each day, tucking it neatly into the past & slowly racking up enough days to call it a week. With the coming of the Spring, the Taliban has returned to these parts but the ongoing conflict is still a low level war.

The war seems almost surreal sometimes. I wake up in the morning in a comfortable bed, take a (usually) hot shower, put on my body armor, pick up my rifle and head to work. We drive enormous armored vehicles to our destination, looking out of small bullet-proof windows at strange unfamiliar scenes of life. It has something of a strange safari feel to it. Upon arrival, we conduct our meeting or assessment or whatever we’re doing, all the while looking like astronauts lumbering around in space suits with our 50 lbs of gear. When we return to base, it’s back to sitting in an office at a computer, sipping a hot cup of coffee, or eating French cuisine, and living normal life.

The only reminder we have that we might be at war are periodic make-you-spill-your-coffee explosions of artillery guns firing, or far-off sounds of machine gun fire. Even when sirens start going off for incoming rounds, if people go to the bomb shelters at all, they might bring a book along or their mug of coffee. There’s no point in running around since a rocket or mortar has just as much chance of hitting you over there as it does over here.

In other news, I found out recently that the Army approved my request to return to active duty. So, a few weeks after this deployment, we’ll be heading to Fort Hood, TX. Mary drove down there a week or so ago to go house hunting. She found one that we both liked and we made a bid on it, but it remains to be seen if it will all come together for us. In any case, Mary said that the area was nice. It is sad to think about leaving Wichita for now, although I haven’t been in Wichita much for the past 2 years, but it is a huge relief for me to not have to worry about searching for a job again when this deployment is finished.

It seems like my time with the military has been one continuous lesson of learning to deal with change. This move to Texas will be the 7th time I’ve moved to a different state since I joined the military 15 years ago. 2 of those years were spent deployed overseas. I’ve gotten so used to change that I break out in a cold sweat at the thought of staying in one place for the rest of my life. Still, my favorite place will always be “home” wherever that may be.